


A Small Gift

by Deathofme



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathofme/pseuds/Deathofme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Round one of the Dark Knight Rises kink-meme.</p>
<p>Prompt: Talia watched her mother raped to death and most likely lived with the threat of rape constantly hanging over her head until her escape. Because of this she is determined to lose her virginity on her own terms and as soon as she can, before someone has a chance to take it from her. There is really only one person in the world she would trust with something that important to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Talia is 17 in this story, and because this is still under the legal age limit in certain countries the warning for underage is listed.

**A Small Gift**

  
The constant hiss of the mask as he breathes at nights disturbs the other acolytes within the League of Shadows. The sound is small, quiet but in its subtlety it is pervasive and insidious, invading their dreams and reminding them of a ventilator in a sickroom transporting their home into the waiting room for Death.  
  
But for Talia it is a comfort because it is the constant reminder that her oldest friend is alive. It is also just loud enough that most nights when she sleeps it cuts through the old memories of the moans and screams within the pit.  
  
There are a few nights it is not enough and she wakes in a terrible sweat, the sheets churned around her legs as she has kicked away phantom hands, grabbing for her. Those are the only times there are tears on her face, cold and slick in the darkness burning with shame.  
  
“Why were you thrown into the pit?” she asked him many times, and each time he looks at her and shakes his great head in silence. Though the curiosity still burned within her, she knew to stop asking.  
  
The next time she asked him of his past, she was angry and hurting from old nightmares.  
  
“Have you ever forced a woman?”  
  
Though they are sparring and he has been using most of his concentration to pull back his own powerful blows so as not to hurt her, she sees the anger flash in his eyes and for a split second he loses control. Pushing her away from him, Talia flies across the training room and smacks against the wall, sliding down it in a crumpled heap as she gasps for breath. The wind had been completely knocked out of her, and like a small broken bird, her chest hitches and she struggles to suck in air.  
  
At once he strides over, regret lining his eyes, and he helps her to her feet, telling her to relax and calm down. He makes her sit down on the bench and kneels beside her.  
  
“You saw too much that day.”  
  
She shakes, but she refuses to let him see her cry. She has to be strong for the both of them, she knows, something her father cannot understand, because she is his only hope. She was the one who leapt to freedom, and he is counting on her to do so again.  
  
“They cannot hurt you anymore, little one,” he says, his head tilting to the side in confusion as to why she is still shivering, and he holds her hands in his own. “You would break them.”  
  
In a small voice she whispers, “There is still something inside of me that can break.”  
  
He does not understand and she feels the heat rush to her cheeks at admitting such a thing. She flees from the room, though there is still a painful stitch in her side, and escapes with her weakness.  
  
Her protector, her oldest friend, stands outside her door at night after that strange encounter because he knows she is hurting but he does not know why, obeying the strongest imperative within him which is to guard her.

  
After the third night of hearing her sob in her sleep, he decides keeping watch isn't enough, and a dark question enters his mind. Fearing that he has failed her in the greatest way, he enters her room in the cover of darkness on the fourth night and wakes her from her sleep.  
  
Blind, still blinking away the worst kind of nightmare (a memory), her arms reach for his chest in the darkness and she curls up beside him as she once did when she was a child. He soothes her wordlessly for a moment, and she looks up to him, now awake.  
  
“Have one of them hurt you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but she can hear the dangerous thread in his tone. “Have one of them dared to violate your father's house and hurt you here?”  
  
When she finally understands his question, she shakes her head numbly. One hand still clutching his shirt, she can feel him tremble with a quiet rage, and she has to reassure him again and again that she is whole, in body at least.  
  
“Then don't be afraid, little one,” he says finally, stroking her hair. “You are stronger than all of them.”  
  
“There is something inside me still that makes me weak.”  
  
She senses his discomfort, but his eyes crinkle into a smile, because he knows that usually when he smiles she does as well. “It isn't a weakness, it's a gift. A small gift.” He chucks her under her chin with a large finger, but it does not produce the smile he had hoped it would.  
  
He watches over her as she falls back asleep and at least this night she returns to the dream sea in peace.  
  
She thinks hard the next week, training, fighting, running, and strengthening her body. The thought never quite leaves her mind the whole time, and she comes closer and closer to the realization of what must be done. Those who come to the League of Shadows with their fear must learn to overcome it, and though she has been her father's most exemplary pupil, she has run away from her greatest fear this whole time.  
  
She hears him move from his room to stand outside her door at night, keeping vigil, and she pads over to the door, opening it and beckoning him in. Confused momentarily, he follows her and sits down on the edge of her bed as she wishes.  
  
“Give me a small gift, my friend.” She says, and trembling she takes his hand and places it on her breast. She can hear the panic in his breath, filtered through his mask, and he dumbly shakes his head, trying to pull away.  
  
“I have to be stronger...and I have to break them all...and what I fear most still lies with me here.” She brings his hand down to her inner thigh, and she feels him shake.

“No.” His voice rasps.  
  
She presses a hand against his chest, pushing him back down on her bed as he tries to leave. “I only trust you. And I can only hurt once. Please, please protect me.” She starts to plant soft kisses over every inch of skin available to her around the hard metal of the mask. She straddles him, pushing her softness against him and trusts so completely that he will not push her off, because the way she is gripping him he would have to wrench her arms to do so.  
  
Trapped, his eyes shut, he tries to protest softly again but she swallows it all away into her hungry, sad mouth and whispers by his ear, “I don't want to be afraid anymore.”  
  
When she slips a hand underneath his belt, reaching for him, she feels his spine go rigid and his hands clench the frame of her bed. She realizes something is wrong from the way sweat beads on his brow and the hiss of his mask turns into a tinny whine as the venom pumps faster into his veins. It hurts him, she realizes, a sensation too potent to register as anything other than immense pain.  
  
She apologizes in murmurs, kissing his strong hands, his neck and the cords of muscle in his arms. Finally his body relaxes as the last of the agony dwindles away, and she reaches for his hand again and places it between her legs. She is wet and slick with fear and desire, and he is gentle as he caresses her, patient, and allowing her to move against him as she wishes. When she slips his finger inside of her she shudders and hides her moan into the vents of his mask, tightening around him. He works with her, gently, gently, a second finger, and she is fuller than she ever thought a woman could be. Her breath coming in light pants, she looks at him and nods, holding onto his shoulders, and grasping her hip with his free hand, he moves inside her and thrusts in deeper until she feels a hot sting and cries out.  
  
He was right...such a small thing, such a small ache, humming through her body as her own wants betray her and she thrusts against him in abandon, her innocence reduced to nothing more than a red smear on his fingers. Nothing has changed except everything.  
  
And now she has nothing to fear because all the cruel men in the world can want and dream, but they will never take this away from her. It is a small gift, and there was only one strong and gentle enough to entrust it to.

 

**END**


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